by Colin Hyde
I got mildly interested in the recent international beauty pageant when Diane Hall, my Santa Maria Street and Compre sister, posted on fb that since our Miss Belize was no longer in contention for the top prize, she was riding with Miss Nigeria. It’s kind of natural to get a little interest when you hear that a black girl – I assumed she was black – was doing well in the Europeans’ beauty contest. Yap, that Miss World or Miss Universe is a European thing. And you know beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, and you don’t have to ask how the European ancestor defines beauty, because they are in our face day and night, night and day, since 1492.
The most beautiful girls of every tribe are a special treat to the eyes, and I was an occasional viewer of the beauty show until the bikini segment wore me down. Like most of my gender, I like to see girls in the bikini, but something’s wrong with the environment. I bet most of those girls don’t like that part of the show. Iffn yu aks me, I think the men behind these pageants aren’t my kind of guys.
It’s important to face facts: a bikini is underthings in heavy material. I have never seen a girl walking downtown in underthings. I bet if one did, the police would arrest her! Girls wear bikinis at the beach. “Reserved” girls wear some kind of wrap when they are out of the sea. I’m not done yet flogging this horse. Whenever you see these documentaries with young women at the beach in bikinis, their audience is their peer group. Whenever I see a girl strutting about, all over the beach, mingling in bikini, I think she is a little high …. I’ll leave off there to say that I, me, if I had anything to do with these pageants, I’d never put a girl under cold, bright lights as scantily clad as it gets. No, man!
I know I am not alone when I say, shorts are modest and very sexy; and midriff blouses, my, while modest, ooh, so what—the guy sang about the girl with the Coca Cola bottle shape. That bikini is very adult; it’s a suit made for ogling.
Ah, Miss Nigeria. I wasn’t enthused enough to watch the show, but next morning I went immediately to the Google to see the results and her pictures from the show. The title of the piece said she came in second. I then saw her pic. I saw that she had a long, flowing mane. It’s possible that’s her hair type. The odds are it isn’t. I recognize the girl was a contestant in a competition to decide on European beauty.
My maternal grandma had a mane all the way down to her behind. My maternal grandpa had curly hair. My paternal grandma had curly hair. My paternal grandpa could have worn a ponytail if that was his game.
In a little research I did on curly hair, I read the comments of one lady who said the reason why she straightens her hair is for manageability. Indeed, straight hair is easier to manage. I think I told you about my cousin Landy. One morning I stopped by his house before school and hollered and told him we were running late. He leaned out a window, sprinkled some water on his hair, took out his comb — zup, zup, zup, and then he threw his head backward to set a “shock” at the front of his head into place. We were ready to go. I marveled at how easy and QUICK that was.
If I am allowed, if I am allowed, I don’t care for straightened hair. I like hair that’s alive. From the point of sex, if I’m allowed, the main story about hair is how it smells.
An awesome song that got cultured out needs to be revived
There are some songs that should not be encouraged during the daytime. There are double entendre songs, many. Because of this negative/positive world design, it is so that most everything has possible, ehm, impurities. Those songs that leave little to the imagination deserve the machete without the benefit of a review.
Okay, getting on with it, when I write of roots Belizeans, I’m back in the 1800s and prior with the Kriols, the Maya, the Garinagu, the Mestizo, and the East Indians. All these tribes had names that were considered derogatory. One of our newer tribes, from the Middle East, they got one too, which of itself wasn’t derogatory, but was deemed so because it rubbed a wound. Our tribes from the Middle East were referred to by the name of their cruel colonizer, from whom they ran to find a better life here. Most of us were unaware that we were in folly, until Ms. Lisa Shoman gave us a history lesson.
There’s a Belizean song, an absolute gem of a song that doesn’t get playing time anymore because of a culture change, and I’m here with a plea, again, for the owner of Ms. Leela’s collection of songs to hire someone to do a little engineering on Two K uhman.
The man for discipline in the Hyde clan on West Canal was my paternal grandfather. There’s a version of a little ditty written in 1715 by a man named Isaac Watts that my grampa used as a tool to discipline his descendants, on down the line. In the yard where I grew up, whenever we young ones got into scraps, the older ones would raise their “talons” and break into this chant: Let dogs delight to bark and bite; ‘tis God who made them so. Bears and lions growl and fight; it is their nature too. But children you should never let such angry passions rise. Your little hands were never made to tear each other’s eyes. Well bifoa dehn get to the second line, fight done an pikni run di baal!
You see those uhman who think they have license to fight on the streets? Well, everyone who gathers around should break into song: Two fooli uhman … I say, that song has utility. But I’m for the beat and the passion. They are sweet Belize, as sweet as it gets. That song’s got the joos!
A “like” for Adisa
I give “likes” to less than 10% of the contributions of Adisa Heru Myrhh, a faamli of mine whom I encounter frequently on Facebook. No, no, I’m not saying the brother won’t go to heaven; he might very well end up there and I elsewhere. Remember, Abou has as much right to heaven as Christians because an Abou or an Adisa can be more in step with Christ than we Christians are. I will say, though, that if the reward was based on trying and I didn’t get mine, I would say to, ehm, certain people to go and get dehn eyes check. I failed, yes, but dammit, I tried hard to make the grade.
Because I couldn’t survive a day in jail, I am always taken aback when I hear or read news of someone before the court for bail for matters not involving violence, and their case is put off and they are put in remand until it is called up. Quién sabe, maybe the judge knows the one before him/her is a miscreant, one weh deserve fu get laas da back. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. It’s spontaneous; I am stirred to compassion whenever I hear about the delayed bail hearing.
Noh mek no laaya fool yu, we know why people facing a murder charge used to be on remand for long periods. It’s because our justice system had become a pushover for the defense lawyers. Some of the most drawn out cases are the lawsuits. Drawn out becomes forever when one with long pockets is in the game. Then it’s low court, high court, CCJ. Getting on with it, the other day Adisa posted a humorous poem from the great continent that tells of the plight of one in the grip of the law. This one being a rare post that doesn’t assault followers of the “white” Jesus, I’m sure I gave him a like:
An antelope was running like mad. An elephant asked him: “Antelope, why are you running like that?” She replied, “The police are arresting all the goats in the village.” The elephant retorted: “But you are not a goat!” The antelope replied, “With our current judiciary system it will take me 20 years to prove that I am not a goat.” And the elephant also started running.